


A Broken Mask, A Broken Facade

by AgenderAcid



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Light Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Other, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:53:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28703958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgenderAcid/pseuds/AgenderAcid
Summary: After exiling Tommy, Dream finds himself dueling Technoblade in a forest on his way home. During the duel, his mask breaks, but he keeps it together long enough to end the fight, although his focus on keeping his mask together causes him to lose. He then heads home where he lets the mask fall and tries to take comfort in finally being alone. However, the peace is only tentative, a fact he should've known.A) I suck at summaries, helpB) I know the exile happened forever ago but I was inspired finally so oh well
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Kudos: 60





	A Broken Mask, A Broken Facade

Crack.

Such a small, inconspicuous noise. Despite that, it echos in his ears. Ringing louder than the clashing of iron swords. Louder than the labored breathing of both him and his opponent. Most definitely louder than any sounds from the wildlife around them.

His eyes widen as he feels the cracked piece, which rested over his left eye, begin to fall away. Breath hitching, heart skipping a beat, his hand shoots up to hand the piece in place, which thus blocks his left eye’s line of sight. Unfortunately, his opponent recognises this weakness.

Feigning right and then jumping to his blind spot, his opponent lurks just out of sight. Whirling around frantically, Dream struggles to keep the other in sight and lashes out wildly with his sword. He can’t loose here. Even if there’s no one watching, he can’t loose. Not here and not to Technoblade.

The hilt of the other’s sword rams into his side. He stumbles and his sword falters. As he struggles to keep his balance, a foot hits the back of his knee and he collapses. Eyes wide, he watches in almost slow motion as the iron tip of the sword flashes into his line of vision. There’s a rush a wind. Cold metal touches his throat. He looks Technoblade in the eye despite wanting to look away. Bracing himself, he waits for the sword to pierce his skin.

But it never comes.

Technoblade stares at him for a long while. There is a contemplative look in his red eyes as he takes in Dream. “You’ve gotten weaker,” he muses, breaking the silence between them. Dream would’ve expected some sort of amusement of smugness in the other’s voice, but there is none. Then, pulling his sword away, Technoblade sheaths it and begins walking away.

“Wait,” Dream says. “You’re just going to leave?”

Technoblade doesn’t bother to stop or look back at him. “Killing you here won’t change anything.”

With those words, Technoblade leaves the clearing and vanishes into the forest.

Dream doesn’t move at first. He struggles to catch his breath and process what just happened.

Finally picking himself up, he sheaths his sword and brushes off his gloved hands on his pants. He takes a step and winces as his side and the back of his leg throb in pain. Letting out a hiss, he grits his teeth and bares the pain as he limps off towards his home hidden deeper in the forest. He’s grateful for once that his home is so far away from L’manberg and the others as he doesn’t have to worry about running into anyone out here and have to bother explaining himself.

Slamming the door shut behind himself, he tosses his sword, still in its scabbard, next to the door. And, now that he’s in the safety of his own home, he lets his hand drop away from holding together his mask and the loose section falls away. Then he tears off the rest of the mask and lets it fall onto the floor next to the broken piece. Sighing, he tugs his gloves off and throws them next to his sword.

Then, walking through the main room, which includes a kitchen area and a livingroom sort of area, Dream pushes himself to continue walking past the dark blue couch that looks so very tempting to crash onto. Instead, he goes to the bathroom where he keeps all his first aid.

Keeping his eyes averted away from his own reflection, he fumbles around, struggling to find the latch that would allow him to open the cupboard the mirror is attached to, but he can’t locate it blindly and so is forced to glance up to find it. Unfortunately, this, of course, causes him to spot his reflection.

Meeting his own green eyes, he scowls. He hates how vulnerable his eyes look. He hates the light freckles that cover his cheeks. Worst of all is how young he looks compared to everything he knows he’s seen throughout his lifetime. Compared to the years he can feel resting upon his shoulders. The memories haunting his head.

Baring his teeth and snarling at himself, he shoves his fist into the mirror with every bit of strength he can muster.

Crash.

“Fuck!”

It shatters. Glass rains down over the counter. A few shards embed themselves into his fist. The backing of the mirror is indented and he can see into the cupboard behind it. Wet warmth spills over his still clenched fist and he hisses when he tries to uncurl his hand. Blood drops onto the linoleum counter, staining it. The sharp metallic scent fills his lungs.

Sinking to his knees, he cradles his injured hand to his chest. Warmth and pressure builds up under his eyes. Blinking frantically, he tries to ignore it, but the warmth begins traveling down his cheeks and he squeezes his eyes shut. Taking a shaky breath, he leans back against the wall.

A knock echos from the front door. “Dream?”

He doesn’t react.

“Are you home? Dream?”

Biting his lower lip, he refrains from wanting to respond. If he stays silent, George’ll go away.

“I can clearly tell you’re home. Your sword’s in the window.”

The front door squeals in protest as it’s opened.

“I’m coming in.”

George’s footsteps echo through the house and Dream can hear him shuffling around. He knows the other is likely searching for him. Unfortunately, he didn’t design the bathroom with a window, just a singular door, so he hopes that if he remains quiet that the other will give up and leave.

The footsteps draw near and Dream can hear his heartbeat in his ears. He has to force himself to take slow and quiet breaths despite his lungs pleading for more oxygen faster.

They stop just outside the door. He sucks in a breath. A knock, soft and hesitant.

“Dream? You in there?”

Eyes wide, he watches the doorknob turn and the door push open. He’s unable to hold back his gasp. Turning his face away from the door, he brings up his hands in an attempt to cover his face.

He can sense George’s presence next to him. The other drops to his knees beside Dream and pulls the injured hand away from his face. George’s eyes focus on Dream’s bleeding hand.

“What happened to your hand? I saw your mask on the floor, but what-”

Dream cuts him off. “Why are you here?” His tone is sharp and accusing.

George doesn’t back down, however, his voice soft yet firm. “Nevermind that right now. You’re injured. Let me help.”

Choosing not to say anything, Dream merely makes a harsh clicking noise with his tongue. George takes the lack of response as permission to go ahead.

Letting go of Dream’s hand and standing up, George opens the cabinet and pulls out various first aid supplies, including bandages, a pair of tweezers, and some rubbing alcohol. He sits back down and pulls Dream’s hand into his lap. With the pair of tweezers, he begins gently tugging glass shards out of his hand.

“Why did you punch the mirror,” he asks, seeming strangely calm as he works.

“Felt like it,” Dream replies stiffly.

George hums in acknowledgement of the response. “What happened to your mask?”

Dream feels his face fall, his eyes drop to the floor, and he wishes for his mask so that the reaction would’ve stayed hidden from the brunette. “It broke,” he whispers.

“How?”

That question Dream doesn’t choose to answer. Which, in a way, it is a response.

“This’ll hurt,” George declares.

Eyes flying up to see what the other means, Dream’s whole body turns cold. His eyes watch, unable to look away, as George douses a cotton ball in the rubbing alcohol and brings it over to his hand. It barely touches the first cut when he lets out a hiss and jerks his hand back, attempting to yank it out of the other’s grasp. In response, George’s grip on his wrist tightens.

“Don’t move or it’ll take longer and hurt more,” he commands.

Unable to force himself to relax, he simply stiffens up his body more so in order to prevent himself from moving the next time. The other doesn’t seem happy but also doesn’t appear upset. Maybe disappointed.

George brings the cotton ball back to his hand and wipes it gently over the first cut, which causes Dream to yelp and attempt to wiggle away again. Jerking Dream’s hand back towards himself, George looks up at Dream for the first time since he’d entered the bathroom with fire in his eyes.

“Stop moving or I will pour that entire bottle over your hand all at once,” he growls.

Swallowing a whimper, Dream looks away and lowers his head. Sighing, George speeds up the pace of cleaning the wounds on his hand, not giving Dream a moment between. Dream keeps his mouth shut and focuses on not making a sound.

When the burning finally relents, Dream glances up to see the other throwing away the cotton ball. George takes the bandage he had taken from the cabinet and wraps up Dream’s hand then tapes the loose end down once he finishes so it won’t unwrap.

“There,” George says, releasing Dream’s hand. Standing up, he puts what remains of all he had taken from the cabinet back. “Now, stay there. I’m going to get a broom to clean up all the glass and I don’t want you to get injured again.”

Pulling his now freed hand away, he brings it up to his face to help cover it. Of all things to walk away from that duel with, a broken mask was the worst thing.

George returns and sweeps up all the glass with practiced ease. He goes over the same areas several times in an effort to make sure there’s no stray tiny pieces left behind. As he sweeps the sink, he huffs. “You just had to break it over the sink, huh,” he teases lightheartedly. “Making my job harder.”

“Sorry,” Dream mumbles.

“It’s alright,” he assures softly. Taking the dustpan full of glass shards, he dumps it into the trash bit next to the counter and places the dustpan and brush next it on the floor. “Come on, let’s go move to the livingroom or kitchen or someplace that’s not your bathroom floor, alright?”

Peering between his fingers, Dreams sees him holding out a hand in offering. Ignoring the offered hand, he simply stands up, albeit with some struggle due to keeping his hands over his face.

George frowns but tugs on his arm to guide him along and out of the bathroom. “Have you eaten recently?” Pursing his lips, Dreams refrains from answering. Once again, George takes the silence as an answer in itself. “Well, sit your ass down. I’m making you eat something regardless if you want to or not.”

Pulling Dream over to the bigger of the two couches, he pushes down on Dream’s shoulders and forces the other to sit down. Satisfied, George goes over to the kitchen, which isn’t separated from the livingroom by any sort of physical barrier. It’s rather small with a bunch of cupboards and counter space with an oven, a sink, and a small icebox off in the corner. He scours through the cupboards. “Why do you next to nothing to eat?”

Dream shrugs while having turned to look over the back of the dark blue couch despite the fact that George has his back to him. “I haven’t had time to gather more.”

George hums. He continues going through the empty cupboards until he finds one with a few apples. Grabbing one, he washes it off in the sink and uses a towel to dry it off before walking over to Dream, circling around to the other side of the couch, and handing it to him. “There, you can snack on that while I cook up some of the steak you have.”

Hesitating, Dream glances between his friend and the apple. Both of his hands still cover his face, though his fingers are splayed enough in order to permit him to see. Taking notice of the problem, George places the apple down on the table and backs off.

“Don’t worry, I won’t look,” he promises. Turning away, he returns to the kitchen, presumably to do as he said and cook some of the raw steak Dream knows is left in the icebox.

Once George is out of sight, Dream reaches out for the apple with an unsteady, shaking, uninjured hand. Grabbing the apple, he brings it towards his mouth before realising that he would have to move his other hand in order to eat. He shoots a quick glance over his shoulder at the other man.

George is humming a quiet, wordless tune and swaying his hips slightly as he moves about the kitchen. The other seems fully lost in his own little world. Notably, his back remains facing Dream most of the time. Whenever George would move so that he might be able to look at him, he keeps his eyes down or looking off to the side away from the livingroom and Dream.

A smile tugs the corners of his lips upwards. Twisting back around so that he’s facing the wall full of bookshelves, which are less than half full, he lowers his other hand and brings the apple to his lips to take a still hesitant bite. His eyes close as he munches on the piece. It’s crunchy and not at all soft with a nice sweet tang to it, the best kind of apple. That first bite reminds his stomach that he is indeed hungry and hadn’t eaten since sometime around sunrise, which it’s now well past midday, nearing sunset. With that reminder, he opens his eyes and quickly devours the apple. Placing the remnants on the table, he leans back against the couch and sighs contently with his eyes falling closed as the scent of cooked steak begins to fill the air.

“Um, hey, Dream?”

“Hmm? Yes?”

“The steak is ready. You still hungry?”

“Mhm.” Dream doesn’t make an attempt to move, too content and comfortable relaxing on the couch with his arms by his sides.

“Are you–do you wanna cover your face?”

That question causes Dream to jerk up as his eyes fly open. Immediately, his hands shoot up to hide his face from the world. “Shit, yeah. I’m good now.”

Walking around the couch and entering Dream’s field of vision, George places a plate of steak down on the table while picking up the apple core. “Alright, I’ll eat mine in the kitchen so you don’t have to worry.” He steps out of sight and Dream doesn’t lower this hands until he hears the thump of the apple core dropping into the trash bin.

Grabbing the plate and placing it in his lap, he cuts into it with the knife and fork given to him and begins eating. The only sound is of the iron utensils clicking against the pewter plates. George finishes some time before him, likely due to the care Dream has to execute in order to cut up the steak without irritating his hand too much. As soon as he does finish, signaled by him placing his plate onto the table, George approaches but stops just behind the couch.

“Um, Dream, can we talk?”

The words land heavily and Dream takes note of the palpable tension in the air. “What about,” he asks stiffly.

He can sense George’s eyes staring at the back of his head. “About what you said last night.”

Last night. What had he said last night? What did he do last night? Racking his brain, it takes him a minute to remember the answer to those questions. Guilt settles in his chest. “Oh.”

A silence falls between them for a minute, neither knowing what to say. Or at least, Dream had no idea what to say. He can only ponder what George is thinking, but he’d really rather not.

“Can I come around? I’d rather look at you when talking about this.”

“I’d rather you not.”

“Really? You don’t think I deserve to talk to you face to face about something like this?” George’s voice, previously soft and with slight hesitance, turns harsh and scathing. “I know you have your whole mask thing and whatever, but you can’t even give me this one thing, which I most certainly deserve after everything you said and did?”

“Fine, whatever. But I’m still covering my face,” he snaps. Sure, having his hands raised to cover his face while talking to George will be incredibly awkward, but he’d rather that than the alternative of having his face, and subsequently his emotions, on full display for the other.

“Fine.” George comes around to the other side within Dream’s vision and sits down on the other couch, which is also a dark blue but is smaller than the one Dream occupies. His arms are crossed over his chest as he glares at Dream’s shielded face. “So, did you actually mean it?”

Dream swallows. “Mean what?”

“Oh, you’re really gonna make me say?” George rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed. “Did you actually mean that you didn’t care about anything aside from those discs anymore?”

At those words, his throat runs dry. Yesterday’s outburst consuming his thoughts, every word he’d spat at Tommy running through his head. “I-”

“Cause honestly, I’d believe it if you told me right now that you did mean it.” His eyes go off to the side. “You took away my kingship for no reason and gave it back to Eret, the person you took it from in the first place to give to me. I wasn’t even king long enough to do anything.” Even though he refuses to look at Dream, Dream can see his eyes narrow and his mouth curve into a frown. He looks like he had just sucked on a lemon. “I feel like the whole trying to avenge my house was more for you, trying to get Tommy exiled, than it was for me. Nothing you’ve done supposedly for me has felt like you’re actually trying to do it for me in a long time. You just keep doing things for yourself under the guise of doing it for the others.”

It feels like there’s something lodged in his throat. He manages to let out a small protest, saying “That’s-that’s not true.”

“Oh, yeah?” George huffs in disbelief. “Come on, don’t try and lie to me with that pathetic defense. Just admit that you hate me.” That worst thing is that George isn’t speaking with anger in his voice at the moment. No, he sounds resigned. Defeated and yet accepting. Like it’s a fact that couldn’t be proven wrong.

“I don’t hate you. I don’t. Everything was to protect you,” Dream insists. “I told you that when I revoked your crown. You were in so much danger being in the position that you were. I couldn’t keep having you in danger.”

“You know what?” George stands up and Dream has to look upwards to still meet his eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

He just stares at the other, exhaustion spreading throughout his body and he can feel the weight of gravity tugging him down. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”

The other’s eyes blaze with a dark fire. “Just tell me the fucking truth already,” he growls, voice growing louder with each word he spits out at Dream’s feet. He walks closer until he’s screaming in Dream’s face. “Literally just admit that you meant everything you said! Admit that you fucking hate me already!” An accusing finger is poking Dream’s chest.

At first, he simply stared up at the other with wide eyes. Then, with his own eyes narrowing, he stood up, which forced George to stumble backwards and lose some of the fire in his gaze. His hands drop away from his face, but he doesn’t care. “How hard is it for you to understand what I’m fucking telling you? I never have and never will hate you. You’re my best friend. We’ve been friends for I don’t even know how long at this point. Do you really think so low of me that you believe I would just ignore all of that? All of the history we’ve had together?” George starts to open his mouth, but Dream doesn’t give him time to respond. “When I was saying that I didn’t care about anything anymore to Tommy, I wasn’t thinking. I was mad. Enraged even. He was trying to say that he had power over me and I snapped before I could think about what I was saying. Sure, it’s a piss poor excuse, but it’s the truth.” He runs a shaking hand through his hair and grips it in the back, nearly tugging on it. “Everything I’ve done has been to protect you. To keep you safe. Tommy was a threat to your safety and to mine. I had to get rid of him. And being king made Technoblade attack you. Being king made you a target because it meant you were important. Eret’s better as king because he isn’t important like you are. I can deal with Eret being in danger. But not you. You being in danger, being attacked, are the scariest moments of my life.” He was rambling nonsensically at this point, but he didn’t care. “I can’t deal with you being in danger or being a target. So, I had to. I had to take away that crown and give it back to Eret. The crown only ever marked you as a target. It only made them want to hurt you. I couldn’t let them. I couldn’t let Tommy get away with hurting you. I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I couldn’t.”

“Dream.” George grabs his hands, tugging the one out of his hair. His voice is commanding. “Breathe.”

He forces himself to take a deep breath.

“Just stop. I-I understand. I understand what you’re saying,” he assures, still holding Dream’s hands in his own. “I’m sorry. I didn’t-I’m sorry for going off on you. We have been friends for a long time and I’m sorry for doubting you. It’s just that I wish you would show that you care more. You don’t-the ways you try to show you care don’t help anyone. You push us away when you care. Why?”

“I-” Dream, although breathing normally, feels breathless. “I don’t want to. I just do it because I want to protect you.”

George looks up at him with sorrow filled eyes and slightly furrowed brows. “Why would pushing us away protect us? Help me understand.”

“It’s because.” He chews on the inside of his cheek as he tries to find the words to explain his thoughts. “If I push you away, people won’t go after you to get to me. People don’t like me. I know that.” He lets out an airy laugh. “I know they don’t like me. They would hurt me if I gave them a chance, like Tommy tried to. As long as I push you away, they won’t think to use you against me. You’ll be safe.”

Taking a deep breath, George sighs. “Who says I want to be safe? That I want to be protected?”

“I-I-”

He gives Dream a watery smile. “I can take care of myself. We can protect ourselves. Just let your friends be by your side to help you when you need to. Please.”

“But I-” Lifting one hand and one of George’s with it, he presses the other’s hand to his bare cheek. “You getting hurt would break me.”

“The same goes for me,” George returns. “If you got hurt and I wasn’t able to be there to help you, I would be devastated. So please, let me be there for you. Let us, me and Sapnap, be there for you.”

Unable to keep eye contact, Dream’s eyes slide off to the side. “I can try.” He nuzzles George’s hand and sighs. “Although, Sapnap probably hates me right now.”

George laughs. “Yeah, probably. You’ll have to talk to him later and apologise.”

“Yeah, I know.” Letting the other’s hand go and slipping both of his hands out of George’s hold, he slumps back down on the couch. “But it’s late and I’m tired right now.” He yawns and then adds, “I also need to make a new mask.” It’s as he says those words that he finally processes the fact that George has seen his face fully this whole time. Jerking up, he turns away and starts speed walking towards the bedroom, all the while mumbling “fuck” on repeat. His heart is racing and he can feel his breaths speeding up, becoming short and shallow and quick.

Easily realising the fact that Dream is not okay, George follows after him. “Dream, it’s okay. I don’t care about seeing your face. I won’t tell anyone.”

“That’s not-” He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. “That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is it? What’s wrong?” The other is frantically hovering around him, but stays behind him. “What can I do to help?”

“I don’t-I don’t know how to explain,” he says. Reaching the bedroom, he steps inside and slams the door behind him, keeping his friend out. The room is largely plain and empty, having only the basic necessities, a reflection of his mood at the moment. It’s also submerged in darkness due to no light sources being present. Everything is numb. A rush of cold consumes him. He sinks to the floor. Hugging his knees to his chest, he rests his forehead on his knees.

“Dream, please,” George pleads. “Let me in. Or at least try to help me understand and help you.”

“I just-I hate it when people see my face. I hate it.” He lifts up his head and leans it back against the door. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s just.” Running out of words, he falls silent.

“It’s okay,” he tries to assure. “If you can’t explain it, that’s okay. We’ve been friends for a long time, so you know you can trust me, right?” There’s a pause like he’s expecting an answer. “I’ll help get you a new mask, okay?” He adds it quietly after Dream remains silent.

Letting out a whispered “okay”, Dream’s limbs relax. His arms fall to his side and he stretches out his legs somewhat.

“We can work on it tomorrow.” Dreams hums in acknowledgement. “Can you let me in?” The question is hesitant and George’s voice is full of uncertainty.

For a moment, Dream has to consider it, not knowing the answer immediately himself. Then, he drags himself up and steps away from the door, opening it a crack to give George silent permission. Walking over to the bed, he flops onto it and curls up atop the sheets.

George pushes the door open and spots him on the bed. He walks over and sits down next to Dream, which causes the bed to dip towards him. “Are you gonna be okay?”

Dream shrugs. “I’m tired,” is all he offers for an answer.

“Go to sleep then,” the other replies easily.

He nods. There’s a second of silence before he asks, “stay with me?” The words are quiet, barely loud enough to be heard. He expects a no.

“Sure.”

His heart lurches in his chest at the answer.

Lying down, George curls up next to Dream, pulling the taller man into a hug. “Good night, Dream.”

“Good night, George,” he echoes. Warm and comfortable and content, his eyes close and he slips into sleep’s embrace.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading ^-^  
> I appreciate any feedback and/or constructive criticism


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